


Drycleaning

by Wrespawn



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, Gun Violence, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Protective Geoff Ramsey, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrespawn/pseuds/Wrespawn
Summary: Geoff Ramsey is a man who wears expensive clothes and gets blood stains on them regularly.  A man like that needs a damn good drycleaner.Warnings: Reader insert.  Gun violence, descriptions of gore.  This is not a shipping story.





	Drycleaning

It’s a quiet evening at René’s drycleaning. 

You can hear the hum of Los Santos traffic outside, starting to bustle as night falls.It’s a new city for you, but they all sound similar.You space out as you wait at the register for customers, listening to the rumble of the city.There’s a different flavor to the white noise here, but you can’t put your finger on what it is.

A new sound makes your gaze lift.The wind chime in front of the door clatters and sings as the door swings open.A man steps inside, sleeves rolled up to expose tattooed arms, a coat hanger with a wrapped jacket clasped in one hand.Last customer of the evening, most likely.

This line of work has given you an eye for clothing.The man’s clothes are professional, yet unassuming — a white dress shirt and ash grey slacks, shiny black shoes — but you can tell that not a damn thing on his body was cheaply made.From the material to the fit of the clothes, everything is perfect.Too perfect.

This is a man with serious money.And he doesn’t need to show it off.You stand up straighter.Better make sure your customer service face is impeccable for this one.

“Good evening, sir.What can I help you with?”

The man leans on the counter, smiling brilliantly.“Well hello there!You’re new here!”

“I-I—“It’s not the response you were expecting.The man’s smile is casual, as though he’s walked into a friend’s house, not a drycleaner.“Uh… yes, how did you know?”

“Oh, I’m in here pretty often.Nice to see a new face!”He holds out his jacket.“And, ah, I apologize in advance for the state it’s in.I’m afraid it’s usually this bad with me.”

You take the coat hanger and lay it on the counter, inspecting the jacket through the plastic wrap.You wince.He wasn’t joking, this coat went through something rough.Dust and grit cling to the fabric, and a large portion is crusty with a dark stain. 

“It’s no problem, sir,” you assure him quickly, lest your silence say too much.You continue to look over the jacket. There’s a nick in the fabric, between the buttons, around the stomach region.You frown, leaning closer to inspect it.“Would you like this fixed too, sir?”

“If you’re able.”

“Yeah, we…” You’re distracted, squinting at the small tear, not wanting to agitate it with a touch but unable to look away.“We can fix that…”

It’s too clean.It looks like it was sliced, not ripped.As though something slim and sharp pierced clean through it.And it’s right in the middle of that big dark stain…

“Mr. Ramsey sir!”

The sound of your boss’s voice makes you jolt.You pull back from the jacket as René strides into the room, joining you behind the counter.

The customer sighs.“René, _please,_ just Geoff.”

“Um—“You try to catch your boss’s eye, your fingers lingering on the ominous slice in the coat.“René, can I talk to you about—“

René slings an arm around your shoulder, gesturing at the customer almost proudly.“This fine gentleman is Mr. Ramsey.”

“Just Geoff is fine,” corrects the customer again, tiredly.

“He’s a very good customer and you should be _extra_ sweet to him, okay?”René’s grip tightens.“Extra sweet.No matter what awful-ass condition his clothes are in.”

“I’ll have you know the staff here are _always_ sweet.”

René pulls away from you suddenly and points a stern finger at Geoff, leaning over the counter.“I found your little gifts from last week!I’d best not catch you sneaking cash into the potted plants again, or I’ll—“He freezes, wilting as though just remembering who he was talking to.Gingerly, he pulls back.“ … Sir.”

Geoff chuckles, holding up his hands in innocence.“No bills in the potted plants.Got it.Your house, your rules, René.And for the love of fuck, call me Geoff.”

René sighs.He shoots you one more look.“Hey.Don’t let him near the potted plants, got it?”

You hold back a snicker.“Yes sir.”

René doesn’t look like he believes you, but he huffs and walks away, through the swinging door that leads to the back rooms.You’re still smiling as your gaze drifts back to the strange stain on the jacket.

… Probably wine.

“Uh, let me ring you up.”You punch numbers into the register.“We should have it looking good as new in a day or two.” 

Geoff holds out a card.You take it, charge it, and hand it back to him.With a breath, you pick up his jacket.

“Okay, sir, you’re good to—“

As you take the jacket, something crinkles.It sounds like paper.Frowning, you slip your hand under the plastic to fish it out. 

“Uh, sir, I think you’ve left something in the pocket…“

You retrieve the paper and your jaw hits the floor.In the palm of your hand is a crisp hundred dollar bill.

“Shhh.”Geoff’s voice is hushed.“That’s your tip.Don’t tell René.”

Your stunned gaze snaps up to him.His smile grows and he holds a tattooed finger in front of his lips.

“Hey, it’s not a potted plant.Our secret.Okay?”

The door chimes as it opens, and a new customer steps inside.The noise registers faintly, reminding you that you’re doing nothing but standing here, holding a hundred dollar bill and staring at Geoff Ramsey in shock instead of doing your job.You swallow, your gaze dropping again to the bill, not sure that it’s real.You take a breath, prepared to thank him or at least give him his receipt…

Before you can find words, the new customer speaks one word.He says it like a name.

“Kingpin.”

The warmth drains from Geoff’s face.His hand slowly tenses against the counter.With a long breath, he turns to face the man who just entered your store.His voice is friendly when he speaks, but it’s different.You don’t like it.

“You’re early, champ.Wait another hour and I’ll be drinking.Better odds for you.”

The new customer snorts and reaches into his jacket.Your stomach is already starting to drop before his hand withdraws with a —

A gun.

A chill locks around your spine.You want to duck behind the counter, but you’re frozen as the man lifts the pistol.The barrel is pointed at Geoff.

“Oh, I think I like my odds right now,” the armed man murmurs.

Geoff shifts his weight from one leg to the other, casually, and the gun disappears from your view, blocked by his body. 

“Easy now, I won’t be much use to you cold.”

“You won’t be much use to the Fakes cold either.”

“Oh, but haven’t you heard?”Geoff chuckles, but not the way he chuckled before.“I _come back._ ”

The words make you shudder, something deeper than your fear of the gun.You don’t know what he means, and you don’t want to.Even the armed man hesitates before speaking again. 

“…An urban legend isn’t gonna save your life, Kingpin.”

“You’re not a very good hitman if you think the job was to put a bullet in my head.There’s a reason all my contracts say _capture,_ not _kill._ You noticed that, right? _”_ Geoff’s fingers drum against the counter.“I’m not gonna tell you how to do your job, but… most people wanna take me home _warm._ ”

Silence lingers.Your heartbeat is deafening as the space between voices drags out.

“…Not that they _can_ ,” Geoff whispers.

The hitman’s jaw tenses.“Turn around and face the counter, Fake.”

With a shrug, Geoff obeys.As he turns towards you, he catches your eye.He lifts one tattooed finger and holds it in front of his lips.Quietly, he smiles. 

The hitman stalks across the room, never pointing his gun away from Geoff’s head, until he’s close enough to touch the barrel to his skull.“Hands behind your back.”

Geoff heaves a sigh and rests both of his hands on the counter.“Handcuffs, hm?I’ll pass.”

“The contract said _alive._ ”The hitman steps closer and jams the barrel against the back of Geoff’s hand, pinning it to the counter.“It never said _intact—_ “

Geoff’s elbow slams into the man’s jaw.You jolt at the audible _crack._ The hit man barely has time to curse in pain before Geoff twists the gun out of his hand, grabs the back of his neck, and slams him face-down over the counter.In a blink, the hit man’s gun is pressed against his own head.

“There is exactly one reason you’re still breathing right now.”Geoff murmurs the words softly, as though trying not to spook the shaking man that he’s holding at gunpoint.“I’m here to get my favorite clothes cleaned.I don’t like _mess,_ you see.If I squeeze this trigger just a _little_ more…”

He nudges the barrel harder.The man flinches, eyes squeezing shut in fear.

“…You’ll be a _splatter._ Blood and brains all over my nice clothes.And you are already more of a mess than I find tasteful.”

“I’m s-sorry, I won’t— I l-learned my lesson—“

“Shh.”Geoff silences him with a gentle hush.His words are frighteningly calm.“Here’s what we’re going to do.We’re going to be gentlemen about this.I’m going to take your gun, and you’re going to walk out of here.Does that sound like the bargain of a lifetime to you?”

The gun makes it hard for the hit man to nod, but he does his best.“Y-yeah, yeah, sounds great!”

“Good man.” 

Geoff lifts the gun and steps back.Slowly, shaking, the hit man straightens up.He casts a nervous look at Geoff, and then, terrifyingly, his gaze briefly drifts towards you.

“Play it safe, buddy,” Geoff whispers.“Right on over to the door.Before I decide that I dislike your face more than I like my clean clothes.”

The hit man swallows.Then, to your relief, he turns away from you and takes a cautious step towards the door.Geoff follows his motion with the gun.With another step, the man is running, bolting out the door as though afraid he’ll need to outrun a bullet.

The windchime on the door clatters as it swings.Stillness falls over the drycleaners once more.

The moment the hit man is out of view, Geoff lets out a long breath and turns his gaze back to you.He flicks the safety on the gun before slipping it down the back of his expensive pants. 

“Are you all right?”

You don’t know how to answer.It takes you a moment to realize that the hundred dollar bill is crumpled in your shaking hand.You nod numbly. 

“I’m so sorry.I’ll—“Geoff stops himself, then takes a long breath.“…They aren’t supposed to slip through like that.If you would apologize to René for me, I’d be appreciative.”

You don’t know what that means.You nod again.With effort, you manage to un-curl your fingers.The once-crisp bill is wrinkled.

“I didn’t let him go for the sake of my clothes,” Geoff blurts.“It was for—”

He hesitates, rubbing a hand over his beard.After a moment, he drags a long deep sigh.

“…W-well, it would have made a real mess of René’s counter.And… you’re new.You don’t need to see…”He looks away as though ashamed.“…But I couldn’t say any of that in front of him.Not if I was going to let him go.” 

Out of everything, it’s this that finally makes you speak.“…Why not?”

Geoff looks sorry, so sorry it makes you ache.“Because he’d come back if he knew I liked this place.”

“…O-oh.”You don’t know what else to say.You squeeze the bill in your hand again.“Oh.”

“It won’t happen again,” Geoff promises.He hesitates, as though reluctant to leave you.At last, he mumbles one more “sorry” and turns for the door.His expensive shoes make soft squeaks on your linoleum floor.Your gaze drifts to the gun sticking out of his pants— the gun he took off the hit man.The gun he never fired.

“Geoff.”

He pauses with one hand on the door, looking back at you.You take a deep breath, slipping the bill into your pocket.

“Don’t worry about the jacket.We’ll fix it right up.”

Geoff smiles again, finally.“…I know you will.”

With that, he slips outside, the door chiming behind him.You let out a shaking breath, leaning against the counter.Outside, you can hear the hum of the city.

There’s something different about the rumble of Los Santos.And you might have just met the reason why.


End file.
